


Touch

by DittyWrites



Series: Gotham Rogues Drabbles [10]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman: Arkham (Video Games), Batman: Arkham - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: F/M, Friendship, Injury, Partial Nudity, Reflection, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-11
Updated: 2018-05-29
Packaged: 2018-11-30 19:58:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11470623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DittyWrites/pseuds/DittyWrites
Summary: Awaking had been an equally odd experience as it had taken her a moment to realise that she was being carried in the arms of the criminal partner she had been working with at the time of the collapse.Dr Jonathan Crane.The Scarecrow.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I swear i have posted this before but i cannot find it on tumblr anywhere so im just gonna whack it on here.

Consciousness was a precarious thing and the amount of effort which Ivy was placing into keeping hers was causing her to debate whether it was even worth it as the welcoming blackness beckoned.

Everything ached.

The last thing she could recall was the feeling of debris as it escaped from the collapsing ceiling and struck her with enough force to knock her to the ground. Awaking had been an equally odd experience as it had taken her a moment to realise that she was being carried in the arms of the criminal partner she had been working with at the time of the collapse.

Dr Jonathan Crane.

The Scarecrow.

They had been collaborating on a new chemical compound which required a combination of their vast knowledge of both botany and chemistry when her underground lab had been compromised by a mild earthquake. She had not been quick enough in her escape but to awaken and find that she had not been left to fend for herself in the collapse was quite the surprise.

Crane was not noted for his empathy for others.

The slightly jostling of her body as Crane continued his journey throughout the darkened alleyways of Gotham was causing her discomfort but she remained silent to discern where they were headed.

Her relationship with Crane was built on a mutual respect for their shared achievements in their own fields. That and the fact that she was immune to his toxin. A grudging acceptance over this fact on his behalf had allowed them to work together on several occasions, it was much easier to work on a project when neither participant was in danger of being poisoned.

As Crane stepped his long legs delicately over the body of a fallen drunkard, she felt his arms tighten as he secured her to him safely.

Normally, the unwelcome touch of another, particularly a man, was high on her list of offences which she would punish with anything between enslavement and death. However, to her surprise, she found that she did not find this hold altogether that unpleasant.

His touch was not suggestive. Her injuries had stripped her of some of her floral coverings but as she feigned unconsciousness she did not once feel his hands slide or brush towards any of her exposed curves. He had elected to carry her bridal-style and she could feel his thin arms wrapped around her back and tucked beneath her knees, his wiry strength allowing him to carry her with only a little effort.

His touch was not cruel. He had positioned his hands away from the gashes on her arms and knees, carefully splaying his fingers to avoid the open wounds. Whether this was to prevent her from feeling further pain or to avoid encouraging infection she was unaware but regardless, she appreciated it.

His touch was not fragile. He was not treating her like glass and this feeling of security was something which she suspected she would enjoy under less painful circumstances. Those who saw her as fragile saw her as weak and she could not allow that. 

Not after everything she had experienced.

“My lab?” She inquired, revealing her conscious state, voice hoarse from the inhaled dust.

He glanced down, eyes opening slightly as he noted that she had awoken and discovered her current position, “Destroyed. I was unable to salvage any of the compound but I suspect i will be able to replicate what we discovered within my own lab. We are currently headed there.”

She nodded to confirm her consent.

“I also own several medical kits which should be more than enough to deal with your current injuries. I suspect you may be concussed but I am also aware of your,” Crane paused again, “aversion to human contact. Would you prefer to walk the remainder?”

Ivy hesitated for a second as she considered the options. Dignity dictated that she force herself to walk but there was something intoxicating about this position, of having human contact which carried no expectations, and she indicated her ankle, pursing her lips in faux-disappointment with the imaginary injury, as she shook her head.

She could allow this for a little longer.

 


	2. Additional Drabble

“Three years, Crane?”

Eyes narrowing, Ivy was understandably suspicious of the information she was being presented with. Not that Jonathan Crane was a noted liar, but as a professional criminal it was always wise to take things with a pinch of salt.

“You expect me to believe that you haven't had 'anything' in three years.”

“Your obsession with my private affairs is questionable at best, Dr. Isley.” Jonathan answered, the tightening of his grip on the beaker within his grasp the only indicator of his mild irritation. “If I did not know any better, I would assume you were an interested party.”

In her time within the upper echelons of Gothams' criminal elite, Ivy had discovered that working with the Scarecrow could have some impressive benefits and they had collaborated on a number of projects over the years. A master chemist to rival her own knowledge, he was gifted enough to ensure that any combined effort was as beneficial to her as her allowance of him using her rare plant chemicals were to him.

He respected her as an individual and she had nothing to fear from his toxin so it was an ideal situation as far as could be.

Still, she was fond of courting danger and, as amiable as their relationship was, she could not help but poke the sleeping bear.

“Three years though?” Scratching her short nails along the wooden work surface which lay to the side of Jonathans' workbench, Ivy had been content to wait patiently for her compound to develop but she could never resist needling her current partner-in-crime. “No one night stands? No drunken hookups in the Lounge? No Tinder meetings?”

A crinkle appeared in his brow.

“What is a 'tinder'?”

“Doesn't matter.” Shaking her head, she quickly changed the subject. “So no action at all then?” Her lips pursed. “That's sad. At least I have Harley to keep me warm on cold nights.”

“I prefer the use of a blanket.” Jonathan replied haughtily, giving her a weary sigh.

Unwilling to let the subject die, Ivy got a thoroughly wicked idea.

Whistling to gather his attention, she paused until he began to turned towards to her to pull down the low-cut hem of her shirt; freely exposing her breast to his gaze as the cool breeze within the basement danced over her skin and caused her to shiver.

His face a caricature of shock, Ivy hid her grin as Jonathan quickly gathered his wits and covered his surprise.

Snapping his jaw shut, he blanked his expression and regarded her breast for a moment with a dispassionate gaze.

“Meh.” Shrugging, he turned back to his workstation without any real hesitation.

“Nothing, huh?” Ivy holstered herself again within her shirt, her shame non-existent. “Not even a flash of interest? I must say I am surprised. Very few can ever resist me.” It was the truth and they both knew it.

“I've seen better.”

“WHAT?”

Whirling to face him, Ivy inhaled deeply as she prepared to tear him a new one for the implied insult but the tiny smile she could see faintly playing on the corner of his lips extinguished her fire.

“Jerk.” She muttered.

“Fear is my only mistress and she is all I need to keep me busy on 'cold nights'.” Jonathan affirmed, swirling the contents of his beaker for a moment before noting down the result. “Can we _please_ get back to the task at hand?”

Ivy sighed. “Well at least I never need to worry about you breeding.”

“Very droll.”

 


End file.
